


Like The Sea

by the loupe (theloupe)



Series: 'Never Felt So...' Vignettes [2]
Category: Infinite Undiscovery
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloupe/pseuds/the%20loupe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He likes it best when she laughs."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like The Sea

He never thinks of marriage as desirable, in the time before he knows her, just another distasteful duty to be fulfilled at the expense of his own freedom. His advisors push, and the Empress pulls, and he knows that before long he is going to be trapped into an existence with the one person alive arrogant enough to think she can control him. Casandra will be free and proud no longer, merely another territory or protectorate under the mighty Empire, and he will be a puppet king. It is a thought he cannot bear.

And then he meets her.

She is of no real importance. Her parents are holders of some small and minor parcel of land out in the borderlands, given to the family as repayment for some slight or another. She is the last of the line, her siblings all taken by sickness or skirmishes. She is a plain, common, and unassuming creature, completely at odds with Her Imperial Majesty's jewel-toned and regal prettiness. History would have made no note of her, had he not done so first.

He thinks she is perfect.

Her hair is like the wet sand after it rains, her eyes like storm clouds distant over the water at sunset, and she smells as salty-sweet as the sea marshes in bloom. She is wild and free, and she is everything he loves about his land, given form and life.

He loves her, and unlike the Empress it is not a question of loving her more than freedom, because she is freedom. She is not steady or predictable or routine; she does not question him when he cannot be still, when he must change course, when his whims can be so capricious and fleeting. She will never try to tame or cage him. She understands what a terrible fate it is, to fall static and stagnant and full of despair. She is always marvelous...

... But never so much so as when she laughs.

They fall together, his fingers grazing her sides, and her laughter is soft and merry and clear, like fine bells. He thinks he shall add twenty cheery little bells to the palace tower, for certainly the others have gotten lonely in their solemn, somber, and serious vigil. The entire kingdom should share in the joy of her merriment, though he thinks he will keep this particular facet to himself.

He growls playfully in her ear, and she giggles in return. Her happiness is infectious, and addicting. He almost stops to tell her this, but then he finds a patch of skin in the vicinity of her navel that he's sure he hasn't kissed yet, and then another, and another, and the impulse passes unheeded.

He cannot imagine, could not bear to face, a life without her smile in it. He will bring her the finest strings of blue-black pearls in all the land, slay every fiend that dares let its shadow fall on their marches. ...Press his lips to the spot on the back of her knee that makes her squeal so prettily.

He will do much more, besides, if she will just stop squirming free of his grip and making him give chase all across the linens. And the lounges. And the rug. And one memorable night, when it is black as pitch and the breeze is warm and they have spent the entire day sampling the latest vintage, the balcony.

Oh, but the way her eyes light with amusement makes her silly game entirely worth it, and he is always handsomely rewarded when either she bores of it or he concedes and sprawls across whatever may be closest, his cheeks as red as his hair from the effort of keeping up with her.

When they both tire, and she curls herself up with him, hooking his ankle with hers and tucking their legs together because holding hands and holding each other is just _not enough_ , he knows that he is happier than any other man will ever be. When she pulls his head down to her and whispers her news in his ear, he knows that he is luckier than any other man will ever be.

And when he listens to her breathe and sees the gentle curl of her lips even in sleep, his own hand curved against the growing bulge of her belly, he knows that life is perfect, like the sea.


End file.
